Eyes On You
by redlettergirl
Summary: "The light faded. The shards faded. And in one, quiet instant, Selphie Tilmitt was gone." When Selphie is absorbed into time, she must find her way back without her friends, and Irvine must battle on alone. Or, perhaps those aren't quite the right words.


_I kind of liked it your way  
>How you shyly placed your eyes on me<em>

_Oh, did you ever know?  
>That I had mine on you.<em>

/

All he could do was watch.

Irvine swore frantically as he smashed the butt of his rifle against the force field, a harsh _pling_ echoing around him as it bounced back. Once, twice, three more times, nothing. A flash of blade and gunfire burst on the wall's other side, a spell flew past; the barrier taunted him as it held him back but let him see everything.

"Squall, Rinoa!" he cried, the gun's finish shredding as it squealed against the wall, his fingers shaking and set to tear his beloved weapon to pieces. "Damn it, hold on!"

At his side, Zell assaulted the barrier with bloody-knuckled fists, cursing with every failed strike. Quistis' whip seemed to crack off of nothing, that high, obnoxious squeal answering her as it stood against her blows. It had even absorbed Irvine's bullets, flakes seeming to chip off and drift into the wind but the thing still held like iron. The sorceress might as well have paralyzed them.

A shock of yellow leapt forward beyond the wall, clear as day as that _nunchaku_ cracked the side of Ultimecia's neck.

"Selphie!"

Her focus held, as unbroken as that barrier. She bounced back, light as bubbles on concrete, danced from foot to foot. "Selphie!" he called again through the wall, not knowing, barely caring if she could hear. "You can do it! Show that witch what you're made of!"

_Selphie. You could beat the devil himself._

Bio boiled up beneath her feet, engulfing her and bursting open, wracking that small frame. She swayed and stumbled, legs wavering beneath her. _Shit!_ "You can do it! Just hold on!"

"This isn't working," Quistis barked, snapping her whip in frustration, quick fingers coiling it to her belt. "We'll have to try something else."

"Like what?" Zell hollered, spinning and kicking the wall with all his might—the air around the battlefield seemed to shimmer. "We're locked out! We have to make this give!"

Irvine was more than inclined to agree. The sorceress swept the air with a clawed hand, ripping open the earth with a blast of Quake. Rinoa tumbled back, Squall barely kept his balance—

Selphie was thrown from her feet, pitched forward. A slab of rock erupted beneath her, slamming hard into her chest and she crumpled, plunging limply to the gray cobbles.

He felt like his lungs had been crushed.

"Selphie!" Zell was the first to shout, pressing himself to the barrier. Rinoa stumbled up, cast healing magic on a limping Squall before a blast of fire magic wrapped around her. Selphie lay still, beyond even their reach.

Irvine pressed his palms to the wall, nails scrapping stuff too strong for even Zell to break. "Help her! Squall, Rinoa! Help _Selphie_!"

"Irvine!" Quistis shrilled, grabbing his elbow with one harsh sister's hand and gave it a jerk. "Get a hold of yourself!"

But he saw the look in her eyes, felt her grip on his arm—wide eyes catching the light, fingers twisting the fabric at the inside of his elbow. "Selphie will be fine," she announced tightly. "But we're no use to any of them out here. We have to find another way in!"

"How?" Zell called back. "Where?"

Irvine saw Squall hastily padding at his hip, drawing a tuft of phoenix down from his pocket. Delicate ice encircled him, then slammed skyward into a glacier of blizzaga, the bits of feather tumbling from his fist. Irvine could all but feel the frost that dusted Selphie's cheek.

"We have to think," Quistis said sharply as she craned her neck and scanned the battlefield. Her grip tightened against his arm. Her voice dropped to a murmur, pressed passed her teeth as she jammed the butt of her whip against the wall. "There has to be a way. We just need time . . . "

Rinoa bent at the waist, wings springing from her back and slowly lifting her from her feet. As she rose, Squall staggered upright, his sword clutched tight in a defensive stance. And as they stood, the time witch smirking from beneath demonic gray horns, black wings spread wide—a shaft of light, soft as snow, fell over Selphie's form.

"What is that?" Zell asked. Quistis sucked in a breath. Irvine's insides froze cold.

Before they uttered another word, before Squall could turn toward the light, before they could do anything at all—she burst into crisp, white shards, and drifted away.

The light faded. The shards faded. And in one, quiet instant, Selphie Tilmitt was gone.

He felt the world give way beneath him. Quistis' gasp reached him as if through water, Zell's roar echoed like the static in a radio transmission. Selphie. _Selphie __was__—_

Aura flicked off his fingers. His skin flashed gold. As he rushed the barrier, it melted around him like butter, letting him charge through with every ounce of speed he could muster. His scream beat like blood inside his ears.

The rifle held at his waist, he stood before the sorceress, white hot rage burning away his fear. His fingers melded to the rifle, burned into and fused with the metal as he fired, fired, fired, the scream of the gun wracking his mind.

_Selphie __is __dead_, he thought.

And all he could do was watch.

/

_Darling, so there you are._

She felt herself floating, weightless like sea foam, little wisps of snowflake on top of the tallest of tall peaks. She sighed, and was content to drift. Yeah, just like this. Just another minute.

Then, in stark, jagged flash—the battle. Ultimecia. Squall, Rinoa, the others trapped, fingers about to break around her _nunchaku_, cracking, smashing, collapsing ground and darkness—

With a shot of adrenaline right to the brain, Selphie opened her eyes.

White. Indistinct gray. Broken bits of color that almost looked like maybe they weren't there at all, imagined wherever she looked, twisting into half-finished images and broken movement. Blank ground, cloudy sky, everything fading into fog too vast and thick for her to see through. Slowly, her chest throbbing and a fresh hiss hitting her teeth, she got to her feet. Where was—what had—?

"Squall?" she called, slowly turning her head back and forth. "Rinoa?" Emptiness, all the way around, white blending off into the horizon, maybe, a horizon with no sky that she could see. She remembered that time when she was little, and one of her favorite instructors took the whole combat class up to the peaks surrounding Trabia—the cold, the fog (how fun it was playing in the snow but, no, that just didn't feel right here . . .), the bleak white that was exactly like this.

Then, as she stood searching for any sign of anyone or anything at all in this place, a gigantic bubble surged up beneath her feet. She gasped as it nearly threw her over, rippling like a globule of oil in sea water around her ankles and she jumped back, raising _nunchaku_-less fists (oh no, where did they go?) and stared at the thing. It swirled in front of her, a metallic blob lifting slowly into the air—and inside it, unmistakable, was the image of Trabia Garden.

Selphie gasped, retreated a step, and immediately put her foot in goo. She jumped back just as another bubble appeared where she'd been, a forest somewhere trapped beneath its oily surface. Another rose behind it, Deling City. Another, and another as she spun around, rising and filling up and choking the emptiness.

Time Compression.

"Q-Quistis!" she screamed into the filling field, whirling as fast as she could. "Zell!"

They were moving faster, roiling and blending into each other. She heard an explosion somewhere far off, a clamor of voices warped as if coming off a broken record. Pictures melting together, surrounding her. N—no. They couldn't have been too late, they couldn't have failed!

Her feet flew across the molting ground, gravel crunching beneath her feet, bubbles of time rising up to catch her like sink-sand. "Squall!" she cried, flinging her arm in front of her face. "Quistis, Zell! Irvi—"

She felt her body jerk, a tugging on her insides like they were trying to go first, nearly making her sick as her ankle folded beneath her. Everything blurred, shot past her like she was a train blasting through the field—and she yelped as her whole body bumped, hard, against something flat and unyielding.

"Oww!" she moaned, lightly touching her stinging cheek. Shakily, she stepped back, and what started as a blurry gray expanse turned pebbled, a wall slanting into an overhang. A glance left, a glance right and up—the wall of the Balamb Junk Shop jumped out at her like someone at a surprise party.

Nearly tripping herself with how fast she spun, Selphie gawked at what lay behind her, up and down the familiar road that presented itself. Thin wisps of fog drifted across the cobbles and road markings, street lamps welded to the walls gently burning, the gray light of sunrise peeking out on the other side of the east gate. The gas station, the houses, the stairs to the hotel, the smell of the ocean—Balamb. Had, had she really made it back?

Gripping her elbows in the early morning cold, she edged down the path, slowly looking around. The shouts of fisherman at the docks met her ears, but her mind stayed put elsewhere. Where were the others? Were they still fighting Ultimecia? No, no that's not how time worked, was it? Did they go somewhere else, or—there, there was no way, there was no way they could have lost. No way! But, if she really had gotten back, if they really had won, where were . . .?

"Here we are, dear. Your new home."

Selphie jerked at the familiar voice, soft in the quiet, tinged with odd excitement. Ma Dincht! She would—!

She felt as if her heart had stopped.

"W-wow," said a little boy, barely reaching Mrs. Dincht's hip, a shock of blond hair catching the lamp light. The two stood in front of the Dincht's door as she fiddled with her key. "Th-thanks, Mrs. Dincht."

"Dear," she said, with that warm little chuckle, and pushed the door open, "how 'bout you call me Ma from now on?"

Zell. _Zell_!

Selphie reached out, stepped forward to chase them, the name on her tongue as they stepped over the threshold—and then, they were gone, and Selphie nearly strode headlong into traffic.

"Whoa!" she cried, jumping back as a car horn blared in her ear. She felt a hand close down around her wrist, tugging her further onto the sidewalk. She whirled on the spot, found a mustached man holding her arm.

"Easy there, little lady," he said, his smile kind, her eyebrow rising. "You'll get yourself killed like that!"

Behind him sat brilliantly lit buildings, strings of colorful lights stretched over ornate archways, fashionably dressed people strutting and clicking down the walkway. Noise, lights, people everywhere, traffic at her back. Deling City. As impossible as it was, after all that had happened here, she recognized it in a heartbeat.

"Um," she said, delicately pulling her wrist from the man's grip, "thank y—"

A great crash, the smashing and rending of metal shrieked through the air. Almost instantly, people were screaming, horror written across heavily primped faces. Selphie whirled on the spot. The remains of a car, smashed to nearly half its size and buried in a shattered limousine, filled her vision. Someone jostled her, shoved at her shoulder, voices around her shrill and afraid and crying for help.

It all vanished in an instant.

_Refle_

She froze in place, hands quaking at her sides, barely daring herself to breath. This new place was quiet and calm, a gentle thrumming outside that was all but silent to her adjusting ears. Slowly, she glanced side to side, barely moving her head. She found warm, brown leather benches, golden overhead rails gleaming in soft electric light below a sparsely packed luggage compartment. Windows on either wall stood wide and dark, blurry with water droplets. A—a train. Yes, a train. At least she had that one, itty-bitty comfort.

She finally got up the courage to move, looking about the cabin. It was as empty as it was quiet—at least, she thought so, until her eyes landed on the far corner. A girl sat there, no older than ten, hands primly folded in her lap and—

For a long moment, Selphie couldn't do anything else but stare. _Quistis_.

She paused a second longer, making sure and—no, it was definitely little Quistis. The girl sat quietly, posture perfect as she looked out the window, glassed-eyes and the corners of her lips tinged with sadness. Her hair, too short for the long fringes that Selphie had grown so used to, was pulled back into a dainty ponytail, pink bobbles attached to the band. However, she could see where travel had worn on its neatness, frizz puffing out from its sides and at the back of her neck. Her feet jiggled lightly back and forth, restless for Quisty, her head slumped slightly on her shoulders. How long had she been on this train?

Selphie started to feel weird standing there like that, an awkward, gangly, staring stranger, the kind you definitely didn't want to run into alone on a train. Shuffling nervously and playing at nonchalant, Selphie took a seat, the leather comfortable against her back but not doing much for her nerves. Quistis didn't even seem to notice, the girl's eyes staying locked to the dark outside.

What was going on? Selphie shuffled nervously, gripping the seat. What—what was she doing here, in this time?

Slowly, Selphie curled her fingers around the seat's edge, rocking slightly, and tried to think. Fighting Ultimecia, she remembered that. Getting hurt, too, and she must have passed out right after that but then, what?

_Believe in your fri_

She squinted at the floor, bit her lip. It, it'd all been so hazy, everything going so fast but, hadn't Mister Laguna said something like that? If this was Time Compression, had she not thought hard enough? Had she picked the wrong time?

Could, could she still . . . ?

She closed her eyes as tight as she could, the leather squeaking beneath her squeezing fingers. _My __own __time. __Everyone. __I, __I __want __to __go __back __to __where __they __are! __I __want__—_

Then, her focus was promptly broken by a happy little bell, ringing through the train's intercom, shattering her thoughts like Shiva's ice. "_Balamb __Town __Station_," trilled a robotic-sounding woman, "_and __line's __end. __Please __be __sure __to __have __all __your __belongs __before __disembarking_."

Groaning in frustration, frown affixed to her face, Selphie let her eyes fall open. They quickly widened, mouth snapping to a straight line, when she found Quistis staring.

"U-um," she said, laughing nervously, hand twitching toward the back of her head. "Sorry, just, just thinking hard!"

If Quistis understood her—jeez, even _heard_ her—she sure didn't show it. The little girl squinted, as if trying to see something far away, brows slanted with confusion; for a second, Selphie even thought she saw her head tilt. Then, with a shake like shrugging off a bad feeling, Quistis slowly got to her feet. She sobered quickly, her face falling again as she moved across the compartment, to where a child's-sized trunk sat. The train gave a jerk, the squealing of breaks, the hiss of steam reaching into the cabin. Looking over her shoulder, Selphie found station lights jumping at her through the darkness.

She heard a squeak and a grunt at her side, the sound of something heavy being dragged across the floor. She turned in time to see Quistis at the edge of the compartment door, struggling, tugging that trunk out of sight.

Selphie wasn't really sure why she followed. Something in her heart told her to, a sad little twinge that made her teeth find her lip. Quistis pulled hard, harsh jerks moving her luggage down the ramp, too heavy for a little girl. "I, um, I can help you," Selphie offered; Quistis went on like she hadn't heard at all.

The station came into sharp relief, brilliantly lit with electric sconces, vast in its nighttime emptiness. Quistis reached the bottom of the ramp; the trunk's front edge lodged between it and the concrete platform. One more good tug, and Quistis overbalanced, the handle torn from her grip as she toppled over. Selphie gasped and reached out, too far away to grab the girl; Quistis, however, did it herself, stumbling upright in the midst of her trip.

She stood there a moment. Looked at the station, back to her suitcase. And, in the silence of the late night, Selphie heard her sniff, and saw the moisture gathering behind her glasses.

Q—Quistis?

_Reflect on your childho_

With all the slowness of an old, sad woman, Quistis sunk to sitting on her trunk, clumsily pushing back her glasses to rub beneath them.

_Things didn't work out too well at my new ho_

_No place_

_No no no no pla_

"Don't give up!"

Quistis' head shot up as if spring-loaded. She whirled, stared right at Selphie for the first time—and Selphie, hand offered, stared at her own translucent palm.

Wh—what was happening?

She looked up at Quistis one more time, the girl's gaze still locked on her, wet eyes the size of train wheels. Like she'd seen a ghost.

"Don't give up," Selphie called again, voice shaky but she had to, she had to! _We __all __believe __in __you!_

_Believe in your friends' existe_

She didn't shoot out of being this time, not immediately. She watched Quistis fade to gray, the girl not once looking away—and found herself back in the field, globules of Time Compression floating small in the air.

"N-no!" she called, whipping wildly about. She gripped her head, thought as hard as she could. _My __friends. __Everyone! __I __want __to __go__—__!_

A flash. Squall, face clear of any scar, no older than thirteen, across from Seifer. Garden training, weapons raised. She reached out for even that. The memory burst in her fingers like a handful of sand.

She ran. More gray folded out from the memory, a graveyard, a casket. Rinoa, in a tiny black dress, red face and teary eyes locked on the ground.

She turned. Zell, still so small, an instructor she didn't know pressing a junction patch to the back of his neck. _No__no__no __you __have __to __stop __you __won't __remember_!

_Reflect_

_Reflect_

_Reflect on your childhood._

_It escapes you._

Her lungs burned. She slowed, legs weak underneath her, fingers wrapped tight around her shoulders. Her eyes stung. Shakily, she lifted up, looked behind her, into the Time Compression that wouldn't let her go.

_Believe__in__your__friends'__existence._She didn't know if she could remember—it was so long ago now, wasn't it—but that was what Mister Laguna had said, right?_And__they'll__also__believe__in__yours._

She felt herself sinking, knees dipping to meet the ground. Did she not believe? Did she not believe hard enough?

Or did they—did they not believe in her?

She felt herself sinking. Her eyes closed. Slowly, silently, she felt herself folding in.

_All existence deni_

/

_With that look on your face._

With the last of his strength, Irvine fired one more barrage.

The force rocked him, a cry ripped from his mouth, the recoil battering his already bruised shoulder. The bullets exploded against that hideous, mutant _thing _Ultimecia, rocking its unearthly form. _Die, _his mind cried with each blast. _Die, __die, __die!_

Rinoa, berserked beyond speech, hit the monster with a blast of Meltdown. Bleeding from a slash about the eye and nursing a wounded left arm, Squall launched forward, his sword swing clumsy but guided perfectly home. The witch-beast shook and roared, like a dying animal.

Irvine loaded pulse ammo into his rifle. His fingers shook. He gripped the gun once more—hard enough to leave indentations in the metal, he swore—as he aimed, teeth gritted, focused his sight on the monster in front of him.

He felt a whisper of Cure touch his shoulders. His eyes flicked to the side for a bear moment, to Squall shaking the remains of the spell from his fingertips. Irvine caught that look, that half-lingering glance that quickly became battle-readiness once more. That watchful look that said _w__e__can't__afford__another._

Gaze turned on the sorceress, Irvine barely saw her. His mind, his gut, his chest—a whirlwind reeled inside of him, ripping him piece from piece.

It was Selphie he saw. Selphie's lifeless body, vanishing into nothing.

_Give __her __back! _It was the only thought in his mind as he fired.

With every shell, white exploded and engulfed her, spreading and drifting like—like snow. He bloodied the inside of his cheek as he bit down, hard. The last of his shots landed, swirling about her in a blaze of light; it was a moment before he realized she'd frozen, violent, broken spasms racking her form. As she writhed in her fleshy cage, the barrel of his rifle dipping and his mouth dropping open—she began to glow. Red and white light, circling about her, bursting, stretching and growing. She was nothing at all but light.

The explosion threw him from his feet. The sound threatened to rupture his eardrums, an animal yelp ripped from his mouth, his gun falling from his hands as them slapped over his ears. The light was blinding, the sound a cacophony from the deepest reaches of Hell: the shredding of metal, shattering of glass, screams of women and tearing, rending, destruction.

_Selphie_. It was the only thought, the only instinct in his mind as he stretched one hand forward across the ground. _I __have __to __protect __Selphie_.

As he opened his eyes to Ultimecia burning, the realization hit him, all over again. His forehead fell to the ground, his eyes burned. As the final reaches of sound overtook him, his own cry was lost as the world was bathed in white.

/

_So let me come to you, close as I wanna be._

"_Selphie!_"

Then, from out of nowhere, she felt a great blast rock the world around her.

Selphie gasped, the heat of it scorching to her core. Nothing around her moved, none of the bubbles so much as shivered—but she felt it. Sizzling and burning and the smell of gunpowder, the roar of a lion. The swish of leather, fingers on her shoulder, a whisper in her ear and a holler at her back—like a bright gold needle, it pierced right into her brain, the sting of it sure and real.

For a second, everything was quiet and dark. Her eyes clamped shut without her meaning to, the roaring in her ears calmed. Then, from somewhere over her shoulder, she heard the slightest of sniffles.

"Irvy?"

She was like a statue. She didn't move, barely breathed, mouth dropped open because, because—she knew that voice.

"Huh?"

Slowly, Selphie opened her eyes. Vines and moss, lush green, jumped out at her, wrapped around crumbling pillars that were weirdly comfortable to see. The smell of vegetation filled her nostrils, with a little salty smell beneath, and it smelled just like—home.

"Irvy? Why are you crying?"

She turned, holding her breath and she _would_ have begged her feet not to make a scuffing, crackling noise on the cobblestone, if she'd been able to think about it. But no, not now—her mind was locked on the little girl at the top of a set of steps, and a little boy, curled and hidden behind the pillar there.

"I don't wanna go," little Irvine said through a thick layer of tears, rubbing furiously at his face. "I'm not gonna."

"Huh? But you have to!" said Selphie's own little self, crouching down and wrapping her little arms around her knees. "That's what being adopted means. Don't you wanna be adopted, Irvy?"

"No!" Irvine kicked against the pillar, burrowing deeper into his corner, and—_curled__into__a__ball_leapt to Selphie's mind, which he did an instant later. "I don't wanna go. You're here. I don't want to go anywhere else!"

Selphie's hands drifted to her mouth, covering her face. Quietly, she knelt down for a better look; her young self's movements resonated in her mind like a welcome ghost as the little girl strode forward, reached out, and tugged on Irvine's arm. "But Irvy, someday I'll get adopted too! I don't wanna leave you here all alone."

Little Irvine didn't seem to have considered that. He grew quiet besides his sniffling, rubbing his wet eyes with clearly immense thought. Little Selphie, ever the helpful one, reached out with a sleeve and vigorously rubbed some of the tears away, making Irvine squeak and leaving a streak of dirt across his cheek. Older Selphie had to be careful to hold back a laugh.

"But what if we don't see each other anymore?" Irvine finally asked, tears largely receded for the moment, but threatening to erupt all over again with each new word. "What if I go far away?"

Selphie's stomach gave a violent twist. One hand drifted to the ground, pinprick pebbles digging into her palm. Her heart copied her stomach, roiled in her chest.

_You . . . seemed to have forgo_

Forgot. She forgot everything. How could she believe in what she couldn't remember?

"No!" little Selphie squawked, jumping to feet, stomping down onto the stoop with such authority even her older self snapped to attention. The girl shook her head fervently, short hair bobbing with the force of it, then finally looked at Irvine with all that same fire. "Nuh uh! You'll never be too far away, Irvy! When I get adopted, I'll come visit you! And I'll learn to write so we can write each other letters and stuff! You will too, right?"

"Y-yeah," Irvine sniffed, blinking in wonderment at the hurricane of girl before him.

"Yeah! And maybe we'll both get to go to that special school Matron and Mr. Cid keep talking about. You'll see. We won't be away from each other for a long time, 'cause I'll go wherever you are!"

_I__never__did._ Selphie lowered her eyes, sank her teeth into her lip, felt like every little word was twisting her insides. _I __never __came __back. __I__—_

She paused. In the dust between the cobbled stones she saw him, laying in the grass at Galbadia Garden, that big, cocky smile on his face the moment he stood up. Him, teasing her on the train and making her blush—_a __sigh __of __love_, wasn't that it?—that funny face he made when he was focusing _really_ hard on the music scores for her. Ragnarok, the hum of the engines vibrating beneath her fingers and him, right there, right by her side—_Selphie's __just __amazing_!

She had come back. Not the way she wanted, not the way she'd planned, but—

One little set of hands took another, and with a high-pitched but resolved grunt, Selphie pulled Irvine to his feet, smiling all the while. "We'll always be friends, and we'll be together again. You'll see!"

"Promise?" little Irvine asked, sniffing one last time, eyes dry, and still holding onto her hands.

Even to Selphie herself, the smile on her little-self's face was practically blinding. "Super-duper superendous promise!"

She couldn't keep the laugh in. A small, happy little chuckle escaped through her lips, passed her fingers, the feel of it filling her up like bubbles or light. At the sound the two little ones turned, gazing at her in mutual silence.

"Huh?" said little Selphie, tilting her head. "Are you Irvy's new mom?"

Even as a shot of fear raced to her chest like quick breath, Selphie laughed again, because she couldn't have kept it down if she tried. She shook her head, unable to even manage words. Thankfully, she didn't have to: her little self answered with a simple, "Oh, okay," before giving Irvine's hands a great tug, nearly toppling him. "Come on, Irvy, let's go play!" she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world to do—and, well, maybe it was, right?—before taking off at high speed, dragging the boy with her.

Irvine, meanwhile, had a split second to turn, eying elder Selphie with befuddled interest, before vanishing around the orphanage wall.

She felt that warm feeling fill her, through her heart, her head, her fingertips and toes, felt herself lightening and drifting away. The world began to blur. A nervous tingle ran up her legs; she fought it back.

_I, __I __think__—_she thought, closing her eyes, bracing herself, and focusing with all her might—_I __think __I __know __where __to __go_.

/

_I saw you smiling at me._

He did nothing but breathe, for a moment.

Everything ached. The residual effects of Aura left him stiff, stings and burns that Cure couldn't blot out prickling over his skin. But he was alive—at least, he felt like he was. The sorceress was gone, and after that, he didn't know. He was almost afraid to open his eyes, not knowing what world would be waiting for him when he did.

But he knew who wouldn't.

"God damn it," he whispered, thick in his throat, fingers scraping the ground as they curled. He saw her, tilting her head at him, this stranger, at Galbadia Garden that day. The look on her face when he finally told them all, her arms folded, so angry that he hadn't said anything but he barely even cared because _she __remembered_. Building a sandcastle with her when they were ten. The way her eyes lit up on that stage, guitar across her front, fists clenched in victory and mouth spread into a great big smile. All for him. He had her back, _he_ made her smile, and it was the greatest goddamn feeling in the world.

And in an instant, in one damned second, she was gone.

Slowly, numbly, Irvine pushed himself to his feet.

His head buzzed. He swayed as he put a hand to his forehead, bracing to maintain his balance. Nothingness-white—white, _white__—_greeted him when he opened his eyes, quiet resounding around him. Emptiness, for the wind to blow through. "Is it over?" he asked the space, finding his voice hoarse and quiet. He cleared his throat instinctively, hands fidgeting to the brim of his hat, comfortable motions that did him little good. "Let's go!" he said, louder this time, wondering if there was anyone around to hear—it wouldn't be the first time there hadn't been. "Let's go back to our time!"

Slowly, he started to echoed from . . . somewhere, he couldn't tell. He glanced side to side, even deigned to look over his shoulder, but found nothing.

"Shut up!" came a voice, finding him instead, and he immediately recognized Zell's feverish squawk. Irvine winced, gritted his teeth. It calmed him slightly, hearing another voice, but one could only take so much comfort from heartless yelling. "Just calm down and think where we have to go."

Irvine kept walking, the sound of heavy footfalls the only thing keeping him company, and tried to follow the bellowed advice. Zell was right. They had to keep it together, and get out of this awful, empty place.

But where was he going? He tried to imagine that time, that place, but—a world without Selphie. His mind refused to comply.

"Careful guys!"

He froze in his tracks, so fast he nearly stumbled over his own feet. He took a sharp breath, felt it whirling inside like a dust devil because—what was that? He—he couldn't have just heard—

Then, clear as a bell, as a bird chirping, it came again. "Don't pick the wrong time!" Selphie cried.

Irvine spun, a heat bursting to life in his gut like the spark in a failing motor. "Selphie!" he called, pivoting, looking for her and seeing nothing. "Selphie, where are you?"

Silence. From all around him, that baying wind seemed to suck in every other sound, but—he knew what he heard.

Like a horse out of the gate, he took off. His sore legs worked, coat trailing behind him, gun lost somewhere and he didn't even care, not right now. It was impossible, he knew it was impossible and if he stopped to think, but—he'd heard her. That was all he needed to believe.

He felt the world fading. His vision blurred, mind went fuzzy, but he didn't, couldn't, stop. A shock of uncertainty twisted through him; he pressed it down, raced and pushed through like a wall of smoke. He knew where he was going. Maybe because his heart was pulling him, this time. The world around him vanished. His awareness of it disappeared.

_I'm __going__—_he thought, taking one more step, and slipping from the void—_to __where __you __are._

/

_Shall I be the one for you?_

_Who pinches you softly, but sure._

She felt herself floating, weightless like sea foam, the sound of the ocean calming in her ears. Sun-warmth touched her face, the swish of shifting sand close at her ear when she moved. Slowly, as if waking from a long, languid nap, Selphie made a small noise in the back of her throat, shifted and stretched.

It was then that she realized, brow furrowing over closed eyes and her mouth forming a confused little pout, that there was something in her hand. Something under her knees, too, as big as a log, pressing against the back of her thighs and ankles. She almost wanted to keep sleeping, lost in the warmth and the sea—but, no, curiosity was too quick to overtake her. Sluggishly, she opened her eyes.

The surf greeted her (_waved?_ Hee) as she blinked away too-bright sunlight, letting her eyes adjust. The sun hovered high in a perfect, blue sky, puffy white clouds drifting overhead. A light breeze carried the smells of salt and sand to her nose, not that they needed much help—turning her head, she saw that she was laying quite comfortably in a dry swirl of sand, white foam and the fingertips of waves falling just short of reaching her.

Lazily, she glanced up, behind her head, where she could feel her hand laying against the sand. There, she found with a small mewl of surprise, was Quistis. Eyes closed, glasses crooked on her nose, mouth open just a little as she breathed. Her arm lay flat, stretched out, and it was her fingers that were in Selphie's hand, sleepily pressed to the middle of her palm. After blinking away her surprise, Selphie had to smile; it was the most relaxed she'd ever seen Quisty.

Just as quickly (like he always did, even when he wasn't trying), Zell jumped into view, that shock of blonde, spiky hair grabbing Selphie's attention faster than if it had poked her in the eye. He was asleep, too, snoring quietly, an arm wrapped around Quistis' ribs and his cheek planted squarely against her chest. Selphie giggled. Quistis wasn't going to be too happy with that when she woke up!

And above them, upside-down in Selphie's vision, stood the lighthouse-poking an opaque but familiar, brilliant white into the bright blue sky.

They'd done it. She could see where the others were bruised up, big cuts on Zell's arm and a bump turning purple on Quistis' forehead (and something dark smeared across her cheek, which Selphie decided not to think too much about) but they were here. They did it. And they made it back.

Right around then was when the log decided to move.

Head lolling lazily on her shoulders, Selphie turned until her cheek came to rest against the sand, and looked down at her legs. Her heart jumped, pitter-pattered in her chest, made her gasp and her knees lock. From the flat of his back, his torso the prop for her neatly bent legs, lay Irvine, staring wide-eyed at her.

For a long, quiet moment, she stared back. The Exeter was nowhere to be seen, but she only gave that the littlest, peripheral thought, and when it fluttered away like a little bird she didn't even notice it was gone. His hat had flopped to the side, leaning against one side of his forehead, his long pretty hair full of sand and it was really funny but she wasn't laughing because, well. She shifted instinctively, legs curling tighter around him, and almost like a reflex he put a hand against her knee. He—she saw the marks on him, too, the slashes and the bruises, felt the burned, scratchy texture of his fingers and she was sure she didn't look much better herself, but he, she—they made it. They were alive.

She wanted to say something. Like, his name maybe, or maybe the obvious _you're__all__right,_or I'm so so sorry I didn't mean to and I won't ever—or, maybe just _Hi_.

But she didn't. Instead, she looked at him, and smiled.

Irvine lay still. He looked up at the sky and gave the back of his hand a good pinch, flinching a little at the pain. Then, he looked at her and, eyes quickly growing wet, smiled back.

Then, turning her face to the beautiful sky, greeting the big bright future that they all helped make, together—she reached down and, promising to never let go again, took his hand.

_Just reach me out then_

_You will know that you are not dreaming._

/


End file.
